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Only a crazy girl would confess such a thing, but here it is: I hate shopping. That's right, shopping. (Did a woman say that?)
Oh, it's not spending money that bothers me; it's all the rest of it. Careening in and out of stores on blustery November days, hair blown to bits, fingers frozen because I can't find the gloves someone shopped for and placed under my tree last Christmas. Dragging bulging bags over the register and through the mall, to grandmother's house we go—but not before I spend hours wrapping each item, fretting over whether I searched hard enough, long enough for the perfect gift.
I know, I know. … bah humbug.
Don't misunderstand: I do love Christmas, and I truly enjoy giving gifts. I just hate the shopping that comes before the gift-giving.
For mall-impaired women such as me, relief waits quietly on our doorstep in the form of catalogs.
The phrase "Christmas in July" perfectly sums up life in Mail-Order Land. Thick, slick catalogs in holiday red and green come pouring out of my rural mailbox right after the last fireworks fade in the sky. Stores may wait until September to announce the coming yuletide season, but catalog companies have operators standing by in their bathing suits, ready to talk turkey all through the dog days of August.
The downside? You can't hold the item in your hand before you buy it. The upside? You don't have to haul said item across a parking lot the size of two football fields.
Yes, online shopping's even easier, but half the fun for me is chatting with the phone rep. "Have you actually seen these Woodstock tie-dyed long johns on page 82?" I ask. "How big is that Queen Elizabeth rubber ducky on page 36?"
The best finds come from catalogs you've never heard of, selling products you never dreamed anybody could possibly need, let alone create. How did we—and those for whom we buy gifts—ever live without all these gizmos and gadgets?
For example, how about a mattress handle for $7.98? Not for carrying the mattress around—for flipping it over. Imagine giving someone a gift she'll use exactly once a year, at most. Ah, but the catalog claims the contraption is "One Size Fits All," so apparently you can wear it the other 364 days.
For the obsessive-compulsives on your list, how about a Squeeze-It toothpaste tube squeezer? For $3.49 their Crest will be good to the last drop. Or a personalized resin Christmas ornament in the shape of a dog bone for Fido? As long as your dog's name contains 15 letters or less, you're all set. Woof.
Here's something I don't know how I've survived without: a heated ice cream scoop. You have to allow 15 seconds for it to warm up (two "c" batteries not included). But that beats nuking the whole container of ice cream in the microwave, eh? And no kitchen drawer's complete without a tuna press. Forget smashing the lid down to drain the tuna, when you can spend $3.49 and enjoy washing the little plastic widget afterwards besides.
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